Warning: some language, some body parts.
The phone sat on her pillow, playing innocent. But even through the dimming screen the text message was clear. Staring at her from inside its obnoxious little blue bubble.
Her cheeks were still burning, her heart pounding embarrassingly from the shock of it.
Okay, so he’d seen her naked before. Plenty of times. But this was the first time he’d asked for a record of it. Nude pictures just felt like a whole new level of intimacy. After all, wasn’t it actually just a way of saying ‘Hey, I trust you not to put my tits on the internet?’
But if he was ready to cross into this new relationship zone of trust and HD arse shots, shouldn’t he have been a little less casual about it? And maybe have been on his way to the Great War, or announcing his early onset Alzheimer’s?
She could always say no.
But then he’d think she was a prude, wouldn’t he?
Wait, why should she care if he thought she was a prude when he was the one being an overly nonchalant sleazebag?
Maybe she was overreacting.
She did like him, after all. And they had been together for a while now. Maybe this was his way of keeping the sexy, fun times alive.
Wait, were the sexy fun times not alive?
Best not think about it.
She looked down at her body, clad in her favourite old t-shirt and comfy knickers. She was already halfway undressed, and she didn’t look too bad. She’d plastered instagram with selfies wearing this much before, what was a little more?
Tugging her t-shirt over her head, she wiggled out of her undies. She snuck a glance in the mirror. So far, so good. Her body wasn’t exactly magazine perfect, but she’d always felt okay in it. It fit her, like the comfy knickers: a bit daggy and puckered around the edges, but good.
She might as well take a few photos, if only for herself. She hadn’t read Cosmo since she was a teenager, but she assumed they’d tell her it was empowering.
Or they’d tell her to skip the pics and wake him up with a blowjob, playing the violin with her toes.
But still, it could be empowering. She could look at them whenever she was having a bad self-esteem day, like she did with her regular selfies. ‘Look at you!’ it would scream. ‘Look at how cute your pubes are!’
Actually, she’d probably just cover her pubes.
Collecting her phone from its pillow of shame, she hit the button to wake it up. There it was again, the little blue bubble.
‘Damn straight, nudes,’ she said boldly, switching over the camera and holding her arm away from herself to take aim in the mirror. The artificial shutter sound was almost triumphant as it caught the image. Eagerly, she tilted the screen back to look at herself in all her naked glory. Like Venus, or kind of a wobblier Kim Kardashian.
Why was she standing like that? She looked like she was lining up to be strip searched. Why did her face look like she was waiting for the bus? How did her hair go from looking tousled to unwashed in less than a second?
She needed help.
Bellyflopping onto the bed, she pulled her laptop close and googled ‘sexy selfie,’ clicking on the image tab. Her screen filled with gorgeous women popping their flawless bums at the camera, showing off flat tummies and cleavage you could hide from the rent inspector in.
What filters were they using?
She stood back up, glancing back at the screen for reference, and thrust her hip out, arching her back. Raising one leg slightly to hide her shag carpet, she hit the little camera icon, missed, and slid her thumb around on the screen until she heard the noise.
Christ, she looked broken. There was no way to look casually sexy and naked with your arm stuck out to the side like a malfunctioning muppet.
She looked back at her computer screen. Almost all the women’s faces were partially obscured by their phones. She hadn’t noticed the first time. Which, she guessed, made them successful nudes.
She tried again, camera in front of her face.
Now she just looked lopsided.
Taking inspiration from another photo, she pointed her bum at the mirror, half turning to look seductively over one shoulder, giving a hint of side boob.
In theory, anyway. Her spine protested before she could get that far. She managed to take a photo over her shoulder as she toppled over.
Crashing to the floor, she caught her reflection’s eye. Since when was that bitch so judgmental?
She tried again, this time kneeling on the floor with her knees wide apart for balance.
Ugh. Too porny.
Was that a face in her rib fat? A disappointed face?
Nope, Rorschach rib fat was out.
Pot belly. Weird armpit. Squashed boob.
So much for empowering.
Throwing her phone back at the pillow, she crossed her arms over her weird, squashed boobs and sat on the bed in a huff.
She liked taking pictures of herself. It was supposed to be fun. Out the corner of her eye, she saw the phone screen dim in the mirror. Her frustration found a target. This was all his fault.
Screwing up her mouth, she closed the lid of her laptop and grabbed her phone. She held it up, held her middle finger aloft and gave her most winning ‘go fuck yourself’ grin.
Barely stopping to look at it, she hit send.
Her official answer to that presumptuous, inappropriate, asshole of a fully clad boyfriend.
She watched the little green bar about the photo gradually fill.
Sending… sending… sending…
Before it could make it to the end, the phone lit up with a new text.
‘hahahaha sorry. wondered why you hadnt replied’
‘im not that much of a perv. You mad at me?’
Her jaw dropped, just in time for the photo to finish sending with a happy little shoop.
There was her face, unfiltered, beaming through the screen with boobs and middle finger on display.
She looked pretty good.
Biting her lip, she smiled and tapped out a reply.